A few years back, we were in that most unenviable position of apartment hunting — and that is a euphemism — we were actually poring over want ads and scouring local neighborhoods until our eyes were blurry, our necks stiff,
and our backs bent from riding up and clam countless streets looking for available rentals. (The only positive thing I can say about that period is that It preceded the phenomenal rise in crude oil prices that later caused gasoline prices to triple!)
We were ‘in the market’ for an apartment in the most serious sense of the phrase. During our travels (up and down the streets of town) we came, one fine afternoon in early April, upon a quaint little property nestled cozily just beyond the point where the city’s sidewalk ended and a tree-lined section of roadway marked the portal to the unincorporated southern portion of the county. We were mesmerized! The area seemed almost magical, as if we’d entered another world.
Now, don’t get me wrong. Chennai is itself a lovely town’. Completely surrounded by beautiful rolling hills, it affords the casual visitor and diehard
resident alike a view to die for (which is precisely what puts the ‘die’ in diehard) This is one of the very reasons housing here is generally both NgHy priced and hard to find. Yet this charming little complex we’d stumbled upon by happy coincidence stood entirely on its own most impressive merits.
pulling into the parking lot, we eagerly parked and got out of the car. Surveying the scene, we gm/ lemon trees, flowers, and neatly trimmed shrubbery surrounding the spacious parking lot, with a large square lawn area complete with picnic table and barbecue, right in the center of everything. This place was definitely homey and definitely one of a kind!
We looked around for the manager’s apartment, but there was no manager In sight — aid no indication that there even was a manager. In fad there was no one in sight. This was indeed a quiet complex, an almost idyllic scene, a
quaint little piece of the country just a ‘hop, skip, and a jump’ from town. We certainly wanted to find the manager of this winning piece of real estate. But, after walking around the entire courtyard and even entering the open laundry room, through which we had access to the back of the property — every bit as nice as the front — we realized that we weren’t going to find a manager there that day.
Reluctantly, we got back into the car and, casting a last wistful glance at this little piece of ‘heaven on earth,’ we watched it recede from sight In the rear view mirror. That was truly a disappointment. There seemed no way to find out who the owner was and besides, there probably weren’t any apartments for rent there right now anyway. What had made us think that we could simply pull into an Inviting little complex we encountered as we drove down the street and expect to find an apartment ready and waiting? We were just kidding ourselves getting our hopes up about this place. We’d better stop fantasizing and get back to the business of looking for an actual place to live. With a sigh, we turned our attention to house-hunting again.
Over the next several days we looked through more want ads than anyone should ever be subjected to in such a short time span We made more phone calls and talked to more landlords, apartment managers and real estate agents than any person should ever have to meet in their entire lives — much less over mere days — setting tip more appointments,it seemed, than the busiest executive. But all these things were a necessary part of the house-hunting game, we realized, and so we dutifully played along. After all, what other choice did we have?
On one particular day, as we prepared to embark on the usual string of appointments to look at places we would never get and meet people most of whom we would never see — much less hear from — again (despite their profuse promises of phone calls to let us know,’) we tried our best to remain positive. After checking out — and checking off a few of the places (If not people) on our list — we drove to the next address on our house-hunting itinerary.
We’d spoken to this particular landlord on the phone the day before, and he’d seemed friendly, so we hoped that things would be more productive at this meeting than the others we’d had today.
We drove to the address we’d written down. (Yes, we had far more ‘apartment rental notes’ jotted on various sheets of paper than anyone should ever have to contend with.) To our utter amazement, we found ourselves entering the driveway of the lovely little apartment complex we’d found and lost all in one day. We were ecstatic!
The landlord gave us a tour, and we were pleased with what we saw. The rent was reasonable and Included utilities — two characteristics rarely found together in the average rental situation — particularly rental so centrally located! As we talked with the landlord, telling him that my husband was a private music teacher who taught violin in addition to other instruments, we learned a most interesting — and very relevant — fad about our soon-to-be
landlord: He had an old violin that had belonged to his granddad, and for years he’d wanted to learn to play!
I hardly need tell you the direction our little meeting took following that revelation! Before we knew it papers had been signed, rent and deposit monies paid, hands shaken, and plans made to both move into our new apartment and, at our earliest opportunity, set up violin lessons for my husband’s newest music student. In return for the lessons, we would receive a mutually agreed-upon discount on our rent. It was all too Incredible! As we left, we shook our heads in amazement about the way things work out
sometimes.
That was nearly ten years ago. Our landlord took violin lessons each week until my husband’s death seven years later. My youngest son and I still live here — in the quaint little complex at the edge of town right across the street from the ‘City Limits’ sign. And whenever I think about it, I still shake my head in wonder over the way things worked out that day, ten years ago, when we unknowingly walked into a rental situation that was, for us, perfectly ‘made to order.’